


Gwendal's Package

by Lukoni



Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: Fashion & Couture, Gen, Humor, Mother-Son Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-19
Updated: 2011-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-26 06:43:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lukoni/pseuds/Lukoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mother does her best to help her son in his hour of need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gwendal's Package

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my LJ on April 29, 2009, and my only humorous KKM story. It was inspired by a scene from episode 47, which reveals, via a flashback involving a cutaway coat, that Gwendal seems to be surprisingly well-endowed for an anime character. Resistance was futile.

More than anything else in the world, Cheri loved her sons. She would do anything in her power to save them from hurt. Take her eldest son, Gwendal, for instance. When he grew into a tall, strapping young man, no one could have been prouder. He was large in _all_ the right places, she noted fondly, just like his daddy. She couldn’t wait to meet the young lady, or perhaps gentleman, who would be so fortunate as to receive the benefits of his particular charms. Gwendal, however, had no notion of the effect certain of his endowments had on others. A naturally taciturn child, he grew into a serious adult with little patience for frivolity and none for games of love. It was unfortunate that his mazoku pride led him to dress meticulously in the current fashions of the court, for the cutaway coats and snug trousers only emphasized his …gifts.

Cheri watched sadly as he grew increasingly frustrated at not being taken seriously as he tried to navigate the grown-up world of politics and intrigue. He knew that he was indulged because he was the Maoh’s son, that people attempted to ingratiate themselves with him in hopes of gaining his mother’s favor. Despite her hints otherwise, Gwendal ascribed the occasional passes and even overt gropes by the more daring adventurers to this motive and gruffly rebuffed all comers. Irritation and anger were his frequent companions.

Cheri could hardly miss the smirks that followed his passage in the halls, the raised eyebrows and pointed looks just below his waistline. And if the few bawdy jokes that managed to make it to her ears were anything to go by, the barracks was full of speculation and wagers on just who would be first to breach that unassailable tower. As a mother, she did her best to encourage her son to live it up, to enjoy his youth, to take a moment or two to smell the flowers. As a son, he did his best to ignore her or change the subject. After the ball in honor of Stoffel’s 200th birthday ended in two black eyes, a dress drenched in punch, a barely-averted duel, Lady Favreau flailing in the fountain and Gwendal seething in his room, Cheri knew she had to intervene. It was clear that her son was, to use marketplace terminology, displaying goods he had no intention of selling.

Her chance came only a few months later when Gwendal was given command of his own division of the army. Most thought it was just a token appointment for the eldest prince, and Cheri knew General Melcher only approved it in the hopes that Gwendal would put out. But the Maoh knew full well that her son had the potential to be one of the best military commanders in Shin Makoku, and that if he hadn’t put out for Maxime Favreau, he certainly would not be doing so for Ortlieb Melcher. So she plotted and planned and sketched and designed, and on the morning Gwendal was to depart for the border garrison that housed his new troops he found a brightly wrapped package waiting for him on the breakfast table.

“Mother?” he asked with a trace of embarrassment. Cheri just gave him her irresistible smile and told him to open it like a good boy. With a slight glower, he did as he was told. He lifted the contents from the box, a crease forming between his brows. It was a long green jacket with gold braid and stout epaulettes.

“Now, now, Gwennie, don’t be cross!” Cheri defended before he could object. “This is a new start for you, and you should have a new uniform to go with it.”

“The one I have is perfectly adequate.”

“Nonsense! It’s years and years old and it has no flair.”

“It was Father’s.”

“Yes, yes, and I told him the same thing, and he never let me redesign it for him.” She pouted artfully for a second. “I used the same color scheme, just smoothed out the lines to make it more becoming.”

“It’s practically a dress,” he complained, standing and holding it up to himself.

“Not at all, dear!” gushed Cheri and she came over and started unbuttoning the short uniform jacket he wore. “It’s cut slim enough to keep out of the way, and the buttons stop here, so there is plenty of give for riding horseback. Oh Gwennie!!” she cooed as she pulled the new coat closed across his chest. “It’s perfect! It makes you look so tall, and your shoulders so broad! You look like you could tear someone’s head off with your bare hands! I’m so proud!!” Gwendal’s objections crumbled in the face of his mother’s enthusiasm, so with an exasperated sigh and a fond smile, he accepted her gift with the resignation of one long experienced in putting up with Cheri von Spitzberg’s whims.

She watched the hustle and bustle in the courtyard as he prepared to depart. His men looked at him with something approaching fear, she noted smugly, and there were absolutely no sly glances or hungry smiles. It was a shame that he would not embrace the joys she had known, but that was his choice and it was up to her to help him however she could. And so she waved a cheery goodbye as her son rode away, armored in soft green cloth and a forbidding frown.

“You’ve ruined the entertainment of dozens of courtiers, and three times as many soldiers, you know,” said a voice from behind her. Cheri turned to face the mischievous redhead who had long been both friend and tormenter to her son.

“I’ve let them have their fun, Anissina. Their minds will soon find new sport. Besides, my little Conrad will soon be old enough to join the game. I’m sure he’ll give them a run for their money.”


End file.
